Rehab
by TwistedRocketPower
Summary: There was no way it was as bad as everyone said it was. They were just over-exaggerating. There was no reason for him to be here. He didn't need help. It was just a few drinks every once in a while. A way to help him forget. A way to get him out of his shell and help him become the person he wanted to be. The person he should be. It really wasn't a big deal.
1. Sorrow

**Okay, so, Googling stuff takes a ton of time and I get different answers for everything, so I sort of made up my own rules for this rehab center. I tried to keep them realistic as possible, so give it a chance before you click the X. I know not everything will be correct, but it is what it is.  
**

**Otherwise, thank you and enjoy.**

* * *

"You don't care 'bout me. You just don't."

"Blaine, be quiet."

"You pre- pretend to, but y-you don't."

"Of course I do, Blaine. That's why I let you change schools. After what happened at Westerville South High I knew- I _thought_- Dalton would be better for you."

"You just sent me there to get rid of me."

"That makes no sense."

Lloyd closed the door behind him as he watched Blaine carefully to make sure he didn't suddenly fall.

"_You_ make no sense!"

Lloyd sighed. "I'm so tired of this, Blaine. I can't keep doing this."

Blaine walked over to the stairs. He glared at them, and it looked as though he was climbing them in his mind, then he turned and simply sat on the next to bottom step. "You don' do anything."

Lloyd walked over closer to Blaine, staring down at his son. "I've had to pick you up from Chaos twice just this past month, and we're only in week two _of_ the month. And today I have to pick you up from Dalton because you were drinking on campus! You were expelled, Blaine! _Expelled!_ Do you understand that?"

"I know what it means," Blaine replied, now glaring at the ground. "…But, you're just angry that Chaos is a gay bar. I- If it would have been a normal person bar, you wouldn't care."

"Blaine, I don't give a crap that it was a gay bar!" Lloyd replied, speaking very clearly so his slightly drunk son would understand. "I care that it is the _trashiest_ gay bar in Ohio. Possibly the United States. I care that all four total times that I've picked you up there, you were so drunk that you were about to go in the back room with men that I'm pretty sure were double your age, if not more.

"I will not do this anymore, Blaine. Do you understand me?"

Blaine looked up at his dad, "I never asked you to pick me u-up. I wanted to be there! Wes and David shouldn't have called you!"

"Really? You _wanted_ to go to the back room with those men? Let them use you however you wanted? Not remember your first time when you woke up the next morning? Or maybe you would never wake up after they used you. I wouldn't put drugging people past them. What if they would have taken you? Or killed you? The people that go to that bar are not good people, Blaine!"

"Stop yelling!"

"No! I will not sit back and watch you destroy yourself! Yes, I did stupid things in high school. I got drunk and I snuck into bars, but never to this extent, Blaine. Never! I did not drink during school and I most certainly did not cuss out my friends because they were worried about me!

"I will not continue to watch as your mother cries herself to sleep of the nights. I will not spend another night lying awake, wondering if you're really at a friend's house or if you're drunk out of your mind and getting screwed by some pervert. I will not answer the phone another time, knowing it's going to be one of your friends telling me you drunk texted them and they're worried you're in trouble. I won't do it, Blaine! When your friends stop covering for you, there's a problem!"

Blaine huffed, holding onto the bannister and standing up. "What are you going to do then, huh? You have some magic plan? You want me to cry to you and say 'Oh, daddy, I'm so sorry. I won't do it again?' Is that what you want? Not gonna happen!"

Lloyd let out a deep breath. "I didn't expect that, Blaine," He said, his voice becoming far too calm. "I've almost got your bags completely packed. I called a rehab center in Columbus, they're expecting us in two hours."

Blaine looked at his dad with more hate than Lloyd had ever seen. "You're insane."

"No, I'm not. I care about you, Blaine. I looked this place up. They're one of the best places for teens."

"I don't want help! I don't need help!" Blaine yelled, turning and storming up the stairs.

"It's not your choice, Blaine. You're under eighteen. It's my decision, and you're going," Lloyd replied, following Blaine up the stairs. "If you don't at least try this, then you're cut off. I won't pay anything for you anymore. I know you want to go to New York one day, and you know I'd help you with that, but I won't let you have a penny if you continue to act this way. So, unless you wanna hitch rides with truckers and earn money by being a prostitute for every Tom, Dick and Harry out there, you'll _go_ to rehab!"

They were in the hallway now, and the words his dad said seemed to suddenly make Blaine severely angry. He quickly turned around and clumsily lunged at his father. However, the turn made him extremely dizzy, and before he knew it, he was being caught by his dad and falling to the ground. The last thing he heard before passing out was the sound of his dad letting out a deep, tired sigh.

* * *

Blaine slowly began waking back up. The first thing he saw was a white ceiling that looked very different from the one in his bedroom. His eyebrows furrowed as confusion crept over him.

He blinked a few times, then groaned slightly when he realized he had a headache.

"Finally!" Someone to his left exclaimed. Blaine looked over quickly, his head instantly regretting the jerky movement.

A boy was there, throwing down a magazine and getting off of the other twin bed in the room.

"I never thought you'd wake up," The boy said. "I was about to resort to throwing a bucket of water on your head."

Blaine sat up slowly, staying quiet as he tried to figure out where he was. He looked around the room. The walls were an off-white color, and completely bare. The floor was hardwood. There was a dresser right beside the bed he was in, to the right, and a nightstand to his left.

Right after _his_ nightstand was another nightstand, then another bed, then another dresser. They were all identical.

Across the room was a desk. Only one. It stood against the wall, between their beds.

All of the furniture was a dark oak. It looked cheap, like it had been used for a long time.

There was a window on the left wall, but the blinds, which were stuck in-between the outer and inner layer of the window, were almost completely shut, making it hard to see outside.

He took this all in quickly as whoever else was there walked across the room and into what Blaine guessed was a hallway that led to outside, and possibly a bathroom.

"Wh- Where am I?" Blaine asked cautiously, his voice sounding a little rough.

The boy returned from the hallway, carrying Blaine's suitcase. "Columbus Rehabilitation Center," He replied flatly, dropping Blaine's suitcase on his bed. "You need to unpack. Do it neatly too; I don't put up with disgusting, messy people. Your furniture is what's closest to the bed you've been dumped on, don't touch my stuff. You can use the desk too, I don't need it for anything. We're supposed to share it, I guess. A "sharing exercise," or some sort of crap like that. Whatever."

"Why am I here?" Blaine questioned, everything feeling a little cloudy.

The boy sighed, then made his way over to his dresser. "That's for your therapist to decide, not me… Although," He added as he opened the top drawer and pulled out a notebook, "I'm guessing it has something to do with the fact that you had to be carried in here and you reek of alcohol."

Blaine groaned, moving around so his legs were now hanging off the side of the bed.

"I'm supposed to inform you," The boy said as he walked back over to the hallway, stopping right before he disappeared, "You are to report to room number 532 to speak to Dr. Marc. I suggest you do that before you unpack."

And with that, the boy was gone. Blaine heard a door open, then quickly shut back, letting him know the boy had slipped out.

Blaine was still too confused to be angry as he stood up and walked to the hallway.

He was correct about his earlier assumption. There were two doors in the small hall area. One to the right, which Blaine figured was the bathroom, then one straight ahead.

He opened the door that was straight ahead and slowly peaked out, almost as though he was sneaking out and trying not to get caught.

The hall was empty, so Blaine stepped out and closed the door behind him.

The floor outside of the room was a white, speckled tile. It was the kind that, no matter how clean it was, it always looked dirty.

He began walking down the hall, making sure he went in the right direction to hit room 532.

The walls were… strange. It was clear that they had been painted white, but they were covered with writings. Different colors of permanent markers had been taken to the walls. Blaine read some of the things that had been written as he walked by. There were names, dates, poems, inspirational words, curse words, and Blaine was sure he even read a couple of death threats.

The doors, which were an olive green color, were covered with writings too.

Blaine should be angry. He should be _seething_. But, maybe he wasn't because he just couldn't take this seriously yet. Nothing seemed real. Maybe he was dreaming? He'd wake up from his alcohol induced slumber and realize that this was all a ridiculous dream. It had happened to him before… although, that time dinosaurs had been involved.

A couple more steps brought Blaine to room 532. Underneath the room number was the name Dr. Marc, so Blaine knew he had to be in the right place.

He wasn't sure whether he should just go in or not, so he decided to knock. After hearing a deep, "Come in," Blaine slowly opened the door.

When he peeked his head in, he saw a young, tall man with brown hair, black rimmed glasses, and a slim but muscular figure placing a book on a bookshelf. He wore blue jeans with a pink, long-sleeved shirt and a black vest over it.

As Blaine stepped inside, the man looked over at him and smiled. "Blaine," He said, then motioned over at a chair, "Have a seat."

Blaine, without saying a word, closed the door behind him, walked to one of the two chairs, and sat down. The man also sat down, behind his desk of course.

"I'm Dr. Marc," He began, "But I'm guessing your roommate already told you that."

"I'm Blaine," He introduced, then immediately felt dumb because, _duh_, Dr. Marc had already said his name.

"I know," Dr. Marc replied. "I just finished speaking with your dad about an hour ago. I also helped carry you to your room when you arrived."

He didn't speak to Blaine as if he were judging him, he was simply stating facts. However, Blaine still looked down sheepishly. The fact that he was no longer under the influence of alcohol made him care more than he'd like.

"Anyway," Dr. Marc continued, "I take it you've met your new roommate?"

"Um-" Blaine cleared his throat, "Not _officially_, no. He told me where to come and- and how to unpack?"

Dr. Marc nodded. "Guess I should have figured," He said with a sigh. "Well, his name is Kurt Hummel. He's your same age, just a few months older. He's… He's a lot to take in at first, but you two should get along okay," He added, not sounding convincing at all.

Blaine didn't really think about what he was saying though, as the realization that he was going to be_ living here_ started to sink in.

Blaine simply stared at the man for a moment before speaking. "You- You mean I have to actually _stay_ here? I can't just check myself out?"

Dr. Marc took a deep breath. "You're under eighteen, Blaine, and a parent checked you in. They had evidence that you were, in fact, in trouble and in need of help. You came in here under the influence. Unless I, or one of your parents, discharge you, you're staying."

"This is ridiculous!" Blaine exclaimed, throwing his hands up in disbelief. "He seriously thinks I need_ rehab?_ Oh my God!"

"Blaine-"

"No, listen," Blaine interrupted, leaning forward, "My dad overreacts, okay? That's all it is. Yes, I've gotten drunk a couple of times, but- but I'm a teenager! It's normal!"

"Blaine, from what I've seen and heard today, your father is not overreacting. You had alcohol in your locker, and you were drinking all throughout lunch. Your friends are so concerned that they turned you in to the principal, Blaine. That should tell you something. There's a problem. You've been drunk for more of this month than you've been sober."

Blaine shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair. "Of course you're taking his side. Everyone does."

"I'm not taking anyone's side, Blaine. I'm stating facts."

He waited for Blaine to speak, but when he was met with silence, he stood. "Come with me," Dr. Marc said, passing by Blaine and going to the door.

Blaine pushed up out of his seat angrily as Dr. Marc opened the door and led them out of the room. They began walking, now side by side, further down the hall as Dr. Marc spoke. "We have group meetings at room 512. Twice a week, the group meetings will be all-male. And the other two times it will be both male and female. Once a week, unless otherwise stated, you and I will meet alone. However, if I feel it necessary, we could be meeting all seven days. Groups sessions are supposed to be one hour, but they're known to go up to three hours sometimes. One on one sessions last a minimum of forty-five minutes, even if you refuse to say a word. Also, I schedule my sessions so that we can have up to an hour to talk. I don't like the feeling that I'm on a time limit."

They reached the end of the hall, stopping at two double doors. "This is the cafeteria," He said, opening one of the doors and walking in, then holding it open for Blaine to come in after him. "Breakfast is served from seven to nine in the mornings. Lunch is from noon to one-thirty. Dinner is from five to seven in the evenings. It is required that everyone attend two meals a day. The only reason not to is if you're sick. You'll be given a card that you swipe at the checkout line for each meal you attend. It lets us know you were there without having to call out everyone's names at each meal. The card will also be used for taking the elevator. Instead of pushing a button, you swipe it. There is only one other floor you are allowed on, so it will take you directly there."

Dr. Marc began to leave the cafeteria, motioning for Blaine to follow.

"You can continue your schooling," He continued. "We have a sort of work-at-your-own-pace program here. We give you your work at the beginning of the week and it's due by Friday night. We go by the public school system, so it may be a little behind Dalton, but it's a good program. We also have tutors here if you need them… You have the option of dropping out or getting your GED, of course, but I don't recommend that. We require you to at least try our program before deciding what you want to do."

Dr. Marc stopped as they reached the middle of the hall. "The east and west wings are the females rooms. The north and south are for the males. Males and females are not allowed to be in the same room at any time. And we have cameras in the halls, so don't think we won't know."

Blaine sighed as the doctor continued walking. Honestly, all he kept thinking was that he needed a drink to deal with all of this. It was just too much to handle sober.

"However, you are allowed in the recreational room, cafeteria, and outside, together. Shaving is only allowed when supervised-"

"I'm not a cutter," Blaine found himself saying offensively before he even thought.

Dr. Marc stopped and looked over at him. "I didn't think you were. Even so, some people are." He continued walking once again, until he reached a bathroom door, "We have a main bathroom for the boys," He said, pointing to it, "and a separate one for the girls of course, which is always supervised. That is where you will shave, brush your teeth, and put on any type of cologne. The bathroom in your room is simply for going to the bathroom and showering."

Blaine stared at him like he was crazy, so Dr. Marc explained.

"We weren't always so strict, but seven years ago a seventeen year old committed suicide by eating both his and his roommates entire bottles of toothpaste."

"Doesn't sound like you have a good record for actually making people _better_," Blaine replied bitterly.

"We actually do have a _very_ good record. Ninety-five percent success rate. Nevertheless, recovery has to be a two-way street. If the other person isn't willing to try to get better then there's only so much we can do."

"So you blame the kid?"

"Not at all. I do think he gave up on himself; That he felt he was too far gone."

Blaine looked away from him, crossing his arms. "You might as well not even try with me, you know. I don't want to be here. I was forced. That's _not_ a two-way street."

Dr. Marc was silent for a moment before replying. "Sometimes, Blaine, the people that were "forced" here realize they really did need help, they just didn't know how to ask."

Blaine didn't respond.

"Let's continue our way to the rec room," The doctor said once he knew that Blaine wasn't going to say anything more.

* * *

"Where are they?"

"All around you right now. There's two little ones with wings, then four bigger ones with horns."

"Are they saying anything?"

"H- Hold on. I'll figure it out."

"Kurt!" Dr. Marc called out as he entered the rec room. "How many times do I have to tell you? Leave. Trevor. alone."

"But he likes me!" Kurt called back, "And he's so friggin' entertaining."

"Come here. Now."

Kurt sighed and got up from his chair. "Let me know later, Trev."

"Mhm."

"What?" Kurt said, coming up to Dr. Marc and Blaine.

"If you're bored, watch a movie. Don't mess with Trevor's head."

"The movies here suck. Plus, Trevor came up to _me_ this time. He said I had people floating around my head… You know, this wouldn't be a problem if you'd just get me the puppy I've been asking for."

"Yeah, well, since that's never gonna happen, why don't you go show Blaine the outside grounds. You know Blaine, right? Your roommate. The one you were supposed to _kindly_ introduce yourself to."

Kurt looked at Blaine, staring over his entire body. Blaine could feel the Kurt judging every last part of him.

Finally, Kurt sighed. "Fine," He said, beginning to leave out of the room.

When Blaine didn't follow, Kurt whistled back at him, "Come on, Bandit."

* * *

**I'm nervous about this one. I hope you guys like it. I'll try to update regularly, but I'm taking college classes, and packing two houses to move so "regularly" may not be so regular. **

**Anyway, thank you for reading and reviewing! Much love!**

**Tumblr: notalone88**


	2. Right Now

**I just wanted to do a warning here for the story as a whole. Please read at your own risk. This story is set in a rehab, therefore things will come up that may be sensitive to some. I just realized I didn't warn anyone for chapter one and, while I got no complaints, I don't want to hurt anyone unintentionally**. **Otherwise, please enjoy.**

* * *

Blaine followed behind Kurt, speed-walking for a couple of steps to catch up.

"Where are we going?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

"It's where we go to frolic and play. Don't go too far though, or I'll have to get you a leash."

"I- I'm sorry," Blaine stuttered, "What?"

Kurt shook his head. "Oh, Bandit."

"My name's Blaine," He replied, becoming a little annoyed now. "And I'm not a dog."

Kurt gasped dramatically, but said nothing. The last few steps were silent. Kurt took his I.D. card from his back pocket and swiped it through the card terminal beside the elevator.

They waited for the doors to open, both of them remaining silent. Blaine, because of how Kurt was acting, was feeling even grumpier now than before, therefore he refused to say anything else. Kurt… well, who knew why _he_ couldn't just speak like a normal person. Blaine decided he didn't care to find out either.

The elevator doors opened and Kurt stepped inside. Blaine followed suit, standing at the opposite end so he didn't have to be by Kurt.

Blaine decided, in the ride down, that since he couldn't just get out of here himself, he'd do his time quickly and leave. He was always good at faking things. He had faked emotions plenty of times. He was excellent at pretending… or, at least he used to be. Anyway, he'd do his time, get out, then get him the drinks he'd been craving since he woke up.

"Are you coming or what?" Kurt said, bringing Blaine out of his trance.

"Hm? Oh, yeah." He stepped off of the elevator and into a long hallway. He wasn't sure whether to go right or left at first, but when Kurt started walking to the left, Blaine followed.

"This is where the crazy people stay," Kurt said, his right hand stretched out and running against the side of the hallway as they walked.

There were doors on both sides of the hall. The doors to the left had all had doctors names on them, but to the right were just regular, wooden, hospital doors.

"They keep the doors locked," Kurt continued, "but if you sit down and just listen, you can usually hear them. There's someone that sits right by this door sometimes," He slowed down, his fingertips dragging over the door now, "and he'll talk to his mom, dad, and sisters. Took me a while, but I realized he was doing all the voices himself.

"And sometimes they'll get angry and slam into the door, trying to get it open. The door will rattle like crazy, but they've never gotten through. At least not that I've seen." Kurt looked over at Blaine, who felt a little like he was in the beginning of a horror movie, and smiled eerily. "It's better than reality TV," He added with a shrug. "Oh, and there are cameras in the halls and outside, so don't scratch your crotch or anything equally disgusting… unless you want sixty year old security guards watching you scratch your crotch. Then, be my guest."

They reached the end of the hall and Kurt, once again, slid his card through a terminal. The door clicked, and Kurt pushed it open. He continued walking and Blaine had to jerk out his hand to keep the door from slamming in his face. "Don't worry, I got it," He said bitingly.

"Mhm," Was all Kurt replied, his back to Blaine. "So, this is the courtyard, blah blah blah. You can be out here anytime from eight in the morning to six at night. No one ever really comes out here though cause it's friggin' boring. Too many flowers. Not enough trees." He turned around and took a step closer to Blaine. "I'm going back in," He said, staring into Blaine's eyes for only a second before looking away.

He walked off, leaving Blaine in the courtyard. Blaine was glad. He wanted to be alone. However, his happiness was short-lived as Kurt called out to him. "If you wanna get back up to the room, then get your butt over here. You don't have a card and the elevator won't move without one. I'm not waiting."

Blaine sighed and rolled his eyes, but he turned and caught up with Kurt anyway.

* * *

When they got back upstairs, Kurt looked at his watch. "Well, this was fun and all, but I gotta go. Don't follow me. Be a good boy and don't mess on the floor."

He walked off before Blaine had a chance to reply.

Another surge of anger flared through him at Kurt's comment, but he chose not to bite back. That was the problem. When he was sober, he let things happen. Drunk Blaine would have told him off by now.

But sober Blaine sighed and rubbed at his forehead, trying to ignore the headache that was coming on. He decided just to go back to his room and unpack, even though that would basically be the last step to admitting he wasn't just going to leave this place.

* * *

One he got back to his and Kurt's room, he walked over to his suitcase and unzipped it. He took his things out one by one and dropped them onto the bed, glad that his dad at least had the decency to pack his things correctly, instead of just throwing everything in.

He let his thoughts take over as he unpacked.

His dad… he just didn't understand. Alcohol _helps_ him. He's weak and a baby and sad and pathetic, but not when he's a little drunk. Just enough to take the edge off. It's not as bad as everyone seems to think. Just a few drinks turns him into the confident, mouthier, happier, and better person that he longs to be. Like now… Blaine was sure that if he just had a little bit of alcohol in him, he'd be able to get out of this place. He could talk his way out of it right now, instead of having to stay for a few months to talk his way out slowly.

Sober Blaine just shouldn't exist. Of that, Blaine was sure. He didn't like this person… God, he needed a drink.

Just as he had finished pulling out his last shirt, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Blaine said unenthusiastically.

The door opened and a boy, who looked a little _too_ happy for Blaine's taste, walked in. He had dark blond hair and brown eyes. He was muscly, but not too much, and had tan skin. He wore khaki shorts and a white t-shirt. Everything about him screamed _beach_.

"Hi, I'm Johnny," He said with a smile and a little wave of his right hand, a clipboard in his left. "I'm a mentor here and I'm just here to tell you everything that Marc forgot, which was probably a lot." He looked down at his clipboard, "You're Blaine, right?"

Blaine just stared at him for a moment, wondering how anyone in the place could possibly be happy, then replied, "Yeah."

"Great. Well," Johnny paused as he opened the clip and picked something up, "Here is your temporary I.D. card," He said, handing it to Blaine. "You'll get your permanent one in about a week. Also, here is your schedule. It's really not that much, there's a lot of downtime."

Blaine took the card and paper and dropped it onto his bed. "Thanks," He replied, although it was clear he didn't care.

"Right, so. Onto more important things. We have an electronics room here, at the end of the hall, where you can use a computer or one of the phones. Phone calls can't last longer than an hour, and they're all recorded and listened to. Computer use is two hours a day, but tons of sights are blocked so you can only really use it for school work. You'll need to use your I.D. number on the back of the card to sign into the computers too. Um, let's see..."

He looked down at his clipboard, but Blaine was pretty sure he already knew everything he was going to say by heart. It was just one of the things he did to make sure he didn't look too perfect.

"Visiting hours are from nine in the morning until six in the evening on Mondays, Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. Anyone is allowed to visit, and you are always allowed to decline seeing them if you wish. Room 561 is the visiting area, or you can walk around in the courtyard. Someone will just come get you if you have a visitor. They'll let you know who it is, and that's when you can decide whether you want to see them or not. Holiday visiting hours are from nine in the morning until eight at night. For people who don't get to leave on holidays, we have traditional holiday meals in the cafeteria.

"Now, you've probably already been to the rec room, but did Marc show you around?"

Blaine was a little surprised that he was going to be able to speak. He didn't think Johnny would ever stop. "N- No, he didn't."

Johnny nodded. "We have an entertainment center where you can watch movies or whatever. No fighting over the TV though. If someone's there before you, they get it. We have a movie night once a week, on Friday's, if you ever wanna come. We're not supposed to have food in there, but the people who work in the cafeteria are really nice and they always make us popcorn and cookies.

"That being said, the lunchroom is open all day. They have little snacks you can get in-between meals. It closes at nine, and getting a snack does not count as attending one of the two mandatory meals. There's one main meal- different every day- for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but if you don't like it, there are smaller, alternative meals you can have instead. It's usually just like cold sandwiches or salads, something like that.

"Mail comes every day, usually around four o'clock, and they just slide it under your door. If you get a package, it's taken to the main desk at the center of the floor.

"Room checks are random; They can happen day or night. The people here have the right to look through your drawers, etc., but they are not allowed to search you unless an officer is present. Do you have any questions?"

Blaine took a deep breath. He wasn't even sure he heard half of that. "Um, no."

"Okay. Well, if you do, I'm in room 504. Just two doors down."

"Okay," Blaine replied. Johnny was turning to leave when the door opened and Kurt walked in.

"How are you, Kurt?" Johnny asked as Kurt walked past him and toward his bed.

"Fine and dandy, Beaver," He replied, plopping down on his bed. "You?"

"I'm great. Thanks." His smile was so genuine that Blaine almost pitied him. He either didn't realize that Kurt's voice was dripping with sarcasm, or he really just didn't care. "I was just filling Blaine in on some things."

Kurt closed his eyes and folded his hands on top of his stomach. "You'd be surprised how little I care, Beave."

"Of course. Well," Johnny focused his attention back to Blaine, "like I said, if you need anything, I'm just two doors down. See ya."

"Bye," Blaine replied, giving Johnny a little wave as he left out of the room.

Blaine turned toward Kurt. "Beaver?" He questioned, a little afraid of what would come out of Kurt's mouth.

"His whole attitude screams Leave it to Beaver. I swear he came out of the fifties. From his looks to his obnoxious personality. Now, no more talking," Kurt opened his eyes and reached over to his nightstand, opening a drawer and pulling out a book. "I'm gonna read a little then go to bed."

"'Kay. I'm gonna get my shower, then put my stuff in my drawers."

"I'm not really interested in knowing every moment of your life."

Blaine's eyebrows furrowed, "But you like _just_ told me what you were-"

"_Shh_. Reading."

Blaine sighed. The bite that was in Kurt's every word earlier was no longer there, but he was still as annoying as ever. Instead of letting himself think about it anymore, he picked up a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then went to the bathroom. He decided that, for the next fifteen minutes, while he was getting clean, he was going to curse his parents, ex-friends, and _their_ parents for doing this to him.

* * *

The next day just felt like torture for Blaine.

First of all, he never really slept. He'd doze off every once in a while, then would wake right back up. He didn't like his lumpy, twin sized bed, or the fact that he had to sleep next to a probably-aggressive person who didn't seem to like him very much. For all Blaine knew, the second he'd finally be fully asleep, Kurt would murder him with an axe... It made sense to him at three in the morning.

He gave up on sleep around six thirty and got up to take another shower. He didn't usually shower right when he woke up, but the thought of laying in foreign sheets made him feel itchy and gross.

By the time he got out of the bathroom at six fifty-five, Kurt was gone. Blaine was a little confused, as Kurt had seemed to be completely out of it when he had gone into the bathroom.

He picked up his schedule from his nightstand and looked over it. The only thing he had to do today was attend a group meeting at one o'clock. He was already dreading it. No part of him wanted to get up in front of a group of kids he didn't know or care about and tell them his supposed "problems" that he _didn't_ have.

He decided to go to breakfast, just so he could swipe his card through and have one meal done for the day. He didn't feel like eating, no matter how much his stomach growled. He tried not to think about the fact that he hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before. He hadn't eaten lunch at at school, opting to _drink_ his lunch instead.

Yesterday, Blaine had been way too hungover to realize just how angry he was about the situation. Since he had woken up, there seemed to be a permanent scowl on his face.

After breakfast, which he spent in a corner table with his head down to make sure no one spoke to him, he went back to his room. Kurt, who he hadn't seen at breakfast, still wasn't there. Blaine couldn't figure out why he even cared. Maybe he just needed Kurt's obnoxious attitude around. Maybe he needed someone to get angry at, instead of only being able to tell his parents off in his head. That wasn't getting him anywhere.

He wanted to see them, yell at them, tell them what horrible parents they were.

But, more than that, he wanted a drink. He missed the bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue. He missed the way his brain felt with it. He missed the slight blurriness that clouded his vision. He missed the way it made him so carefree and weightless. Like there were no problems in the world.

He spent the next few hours holed in his room, refusing to leave. He'd lay on his bed, look out the window- which had a view of trees, and a few surrounding buildings-, and look around in the bathroom.

He read every ingredient in Kurt's shampoo, conditioner, and body wash bottles. Then, every ingredient in his own.

Yeah, he was bored.

He wondered where Kurt was more times than he'd ever admit. It wasn't that he liked him, cause he hated him, it was just that he seemed to have disappeared. What could he possibly be doing to keep him from his room since six thirty that morning?

Blaine went to lunch at noon, picking up a banana to eat because he couldn't deny his hunger any longer.

He hated every bite of that banana he took. He felt like it was betraying him somehow. Like it was another thing he was being forced to do.

God, he hated that banana.

A few minutes before one o'clock he headed to room 512. There was a group of boys all filing into the room. Some silent and to themselves, and others laughing and talking to others. Blaine decided that those were the people who had given up on ever getting out of here. You don't make friends in rehab.

All of the seats were in a circle. Blaine took the first one he could find, hoping he'd be furthest away from Dr. Marc, or whoever may be doing the session today.

He crossed his arms over his chest and sunk into his seat. He was the epitome of an angry child who hadn't been allowed to get the toy he wanted at the store.

When he finally looked around, he saw that Kurt was there. He was two seats away. He wasn't speaking to anyone, but just looking around at each person with a judgmental glance. Blaine wondered if that was the only facial expression he could make.

Since no girls came in, Blaine figured today must be an all-boy day. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

A couple of minutes after one o'clock, Dr. Marc entered. Blaine had already decided that he must be unprofessional, seeing as he showed up a whole _two_ _minutes_ late.

This was the part Blaine had been dreading. The inevitable introduction and questioning that he'd have to do in front of everyone.

Except, Dr. Marc didn't call him out. He actually didn't say anything to Blaine the entire session. No one did.

Dr. Marc simply began by asking who would like to start, and a tall, red headed boy with lots of freckles raised his hand. Dr. Marc nodded, telling him- Eli- to go ahead.

Blaine figured this is where they spoke about how they've progressed or regressed since the last session, but instead Eli talked about his family visiting, his schoolwork, and how he still thinks Daniel cheated on the video game they apparently played three weeks ago. Everyone except Blaine and Kurt laughed; evidently it was an inside joke. The only explanation Blaine could come up with for Kurt not joining in is that he was incapable of laughter. It didn't seem too far fetched to him.

Not everyone talked during the session. There were fourteen people in the group, and six or seven spoke. After an hour, and Dr. Marc making sure that no one else wanted to say anything, he let everyone go.

Blaine went straight back to his room. He wondered if Kurt would follow, but after ten minutes of sitting on his bed, he figured that wasn't going to be happening.

Becoming even more bored than he thought humanly possible, he walked over to the desk and opened the drawers. The first two were empty, but the third drawer had some paper and pencils.

Blaine took out the paper and the pencils and went back to his bed.

He leaned back against the headboard with his knees bent up, the paper resting on his legs. He decided that, since he had so much he wanted to say to his parents, but no way to say it to their face, he would write it. If they were going to put him through this unnecessary hell, he'd return the favor.

He spent the rest of the day writing and rewriting until he had scribbled down _everything_ he thought of them.

* * *

**I based Blaine's attitude off of me and how I get when I have to do something I don't wanna do. It's kind of an exaggerated version, but still... (I only say this cause on one of my other stories, someone got mad at me because it was "too AU." Not sure I really get that, but...)**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing :) Means a lot.**

**Tumblr: notalone88**


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